


Mellotron Madness

by NorthwesternInsanity



Category: Music RPF, The Moody Blues (Band)
Genre: Boys Being Boys, Gen, Humor, Instruments breaking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-11 12:40:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15972512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorthwesternInsanity/pseuds/NorthwesternInsanity
Summary: The night that Mike Pinder's mellotron exploded its tapes out the back at a big performance!





	Mellotron Madness

It was a big night coming for The Moody Blues. A trip into America, and one of their greatest achievements in performance status.

They were to be top of the bill at Fillmore East in New York.

The weeks leading up had been chaos. Nervous excitement ran amuck in arrangements with managers making sure all equipment made it overseas in working order, that flights and lodging were booked, the crew knew exactly how everything was to be set up, and arranging a setlist for the event. They hadn't been to America as many times as the typical British band, and not very many times at all, making what seemed a routine event for their friends like The Beatles a big to do for The Moodies.

The arranging made the hours and hours of rehearsal seem like a cakewalk, and that had been a nightmare in itself. Justin Hayward and Mike Pinder had been nitpicking every part of the set beyond the usual level of obsessive perfectionism.

_"Stop, stop, stop! Oh, no -the vocals weren't synced in that spot; that won't do. Start it again!" "Ray, your flute squealed on that phrase. Try it again." "No, Graeme, you came in late there." "John, your falsetto fell off on that phrase; let's repeat that line, shall we?"_

Now, they were finally walking from the backstage room onto the stage behind the curtain following a day of high strung nerves that were finally being replaced with the welcome adrenaline and thrill of a performance ahead.

Mike sat down, prepared to hit the first note of the mellotron, which would come in before the curtain rose as a theatrical measure.

"Ready?" Ray whispered to Justin.

Justin gave Ray one of his classic "are you kidding me?" looks.

"Of course."

"John's ready," Ray noted, looking over to the bassist who bounced ever so slightly on his toes in anticipation.

Mike pressed his fingers down on the first chord. 

Immediately, when the soft string effect did not begin, he knew something wasn't right. Then, before he could look down to see if the keys were sticking-

_Pwiiinnng!_

_Flop-flop-flop!_

An odd noise emerged from the mellotron, right before a swishing, rustling sound as tapes came bursting out of the back, sliding over and flopping against each other until they finally unfurled to hang by their ends down to the floor like spaghetti strands emerging from a pasta machine.

Mike just stared with big eyes, not even sure how to react initially.

"Oh, bloody..." Justin murmured darkly.

"I do believe that's not a good thing at all," Ray spoke grimly.

Graeme turned around on his stool so fast that he nearly toppled off of it, giving the stage manager a panicked look that silently pleaded: _Help!_

John Lodge gasped and clapped his hands over his mouth in sheer horror. He wasn't quite sure whether he wanted to laugh or cry.

A minute later, his body reflexively made that choice for him as his eyes screwed up, his shoulders began to shake, and tiny, near inaudible noises came from him as nervous laughter got the better of him.

"John. Charles. LODGE!" hissed Justin through his teeth. He didn't even have to say anything further for anyone to know what he meant.

John looked up at the ceiling painfully, trying to stop himself. 

"Apologies. I know it isn't funny," John choked out in a whisper. Except it is, in a way!

Ray looked at John wearily, before turning to look at a glowering Justin Hayward -whose death glare now settled on the mellotron tapes. He then glanced at Mike, who was beginning to transition from pure shock to more of exasperation, and finally back to John.

"Just... keep it quiet, mate, will ya?"

Mike got up and looked around the back of the mellotron to see the extent of the damage.

"Oh, that nasty piece of -God _damn it!"_

Graeme flinched.

The stage manager was finally making his way over onto the stage between the drum kit and the mellotron.

"We need help, right now!" insisted Graeme. "Please!"

The manager now stopped behind the mellotron next to the drums, with a clear view of the tapes flopping out of the back. "Oh dear-"

"That's right -this," Mike hissed, pointing forcefully to the tapes, "is going to take the better part of an hour, and possibly longer to put back together, if you could bloody well imagine."

"Well," started the manager. "Don't worry boys. We'll figure out something."

"Can you put it back together, Mike?" asked Ray.

"Yes, but like I said, it's complicated, and don't expect me to have it together in just three minutes time!"

"Well, start fixing it -the sooner you start the better chance we have of getting it back together sooner," ordered Justin. He turned to the manager. "Is there a way to postpone our performance? Say, an hour, perhaps."

"We can indeed let the audience know. How many of them will stick around is out of our control, and depending on how long it takes, you boys may have to do a reduced set, but we will try to give you some stage time if time allows." The manager paused. "I recommend you all go backstage and sort out what songs you would cut from the list depending on how much time you lose."

Justin continued to hold his dark look, but turned around and motioned for Ray, Graeme, and John to follow.

"Come along then and give Mike some time with less distraction. Brilliant, this is. Damn well _brilliant."_

Without a word, the others followed to the backstage sitting room.

Ray picked up the sheet of paper with the set list, but Justin waved him away, and Graeme shook his head, all indicating it wasn't a good time. The dust of immense embarrassment and annoyance needed to settle.

It added insult to injury when one of the roadies came back to let them know what exactly they were keeping the audience entertained with. Cartoon video tapes on a projector.

Justin was the first to break the silence, being hopping mad.

"Do you realize that we've come all the way here for _this?_ To be second bill to bloody _Bugs Bunny?!"_ Justin hissed. "And that isn't ridiculously embarrassing, then I don't know what is!"

"We all feel the same, mate," said Ray gently. "Mike's got to be mortified. Sometimes, none of us are in control of what happens."

Graeme piped up from the couch, having settled himself down. 

"I reckon it lucky that it's Mike's own mellotron. Not only does he know quite a bit about how they work, but he's familiar with this one. Tedious and time consuming, but he's at least able to put it back."

"If the poor man doesn't pass out from embarrassment and stress first," added Ray. "I imagine he'll be knackered after this one."

"If we even get to perform," warned Justin.

John looked at Justin with pleading eyes.

"For land's sake, Hayward, I get it. But please. It's not helping! Mike will make it work out. At least trust him -he knows his mellotron."

"You've got to wonder if the reason he says he hasn't been able to keep up with his lady the way the rest of us can with ours despite the touring is because that mellotron takes up all his time," tried Graeme with a hint of humor on his face. 

John perked up and looked at Graeme. He could tell the drummer was going to try for comic relief by creating a wild story about the situation. Graeme was an amazing poet and storyteller, and if they could get him going, his idea might have been just the thing to diffuse the stress of the moment.

Justin gave in and snorted, a slight smirk curling on him.

"That mellotron is a jealous mistress of him. Demands it from him. What a mighty fine bitch she is!"

John dissolved in wheezing laughter behind his hands again.

"I imagine she's got some... health difficulties, or some chronic illness to boot," added Ray, raising an eyebrow impishly.

"Ah, no, that's not quite it," declared Graeme. "You see, she's a bit of a party animal -not unlike myself -but to a higher degree. Perhaps, she got a little bit tipsy tonight, you think? Or more than that, really."

"Blackout bloody _pissed,"_ corrected Justin, now grinning sinisterly. 

"And you see, when she's tipsy, she's a little sensitive to touch," said Graeme with a wink, making it clear exactly what he meant.

John roared out loud this time. Ray flopped back in his chair in a similar hysterical condition.

"Graeme Edge, you _dirty-minded bugger!"_ scolded Justin mirthfully.

"Shhhhhh!!! You see, you mustn't be too loud -she'll hear you from out there and know we're talking about her. Lord knows what trouble she'll make for Mike then," warned Graeme playfully, reaching over and giving John a hard shove to try and pull him back together. "Lodgey, don't strain yourself there, now."

Now suffering from a laughter-induced case of the hiccups, John struggled to regain his composure.

"Oh Graeme," he sighed. "That's just _-hic!_ great."

Ray got up, grabbed two glasses of water, and handed one to John, keeping the other for himself.

"Settle down, mate."

Graeme went on to continue.

"But you see, usually, that's a good thing if she's not too drunk, because then Mike's crawling fingers stimulate her to make those incredible sounds that put everyone in the audience in the mood too, you know. You can't deny she's a moody one herself, and that's why she's one with us."

"Graeme, you're killing me," groaned Ray, shaking his head, his ribs hurting with more restrained laughter.

"Now _what?_ Just because we seem more proper than the average band doesn't mean we don't roll the same way. It still is, in fact, sex, drugs, and rock and roll, in our own way! And our mellotron is perhaps the most druggy one in the band!" Graeme crossed his arms, clearly proud of himself.

"Drugged more than when Ray had us try hallucinogens? And you're trying to imply she's the most sexy one too, then?" Justin raised an eyebrow.

 _-Hic!-_ Whether that had simply been a continuation of John's hiccups, or John choking on his water with more laughter at Justin's inquiry, none of the Moodies would ever know.

Graeme faked a glare at Justin for a minute, before chuckling and continuing.

"Anyhow. She drank far too much tonight, and she just wasn't feeling well at all. She was off balance with her senses, and queasy in her tape box. So, when Mike went to her, something not so pretty expected of drinking to much just went and happened, and a bit of a catastrophic event for her it was."

"Oh, that's bloody disgusting!" choked out John. "She tossed her spaghetti all over the place!"

Ray groaned. "Nice way of putting it, Lodgey. I don't think I'll be able to eat spaghetti or anything of resemblance to it for at least a month."

"It did actually look like spaghetti junction with all those tapes." Justin nodded in John's direction, before turning to Ray in agreement.

"Well, indeed. She did get quite sick," said Graeme, rounding it back up, still grinning knowingly. "And now, poor Mike, as the good gentleman he is, he's taking care of her. Helping her get cleaned up and sobered up enough to be stage-worthy. How about that, then?"

"Indeed so," confirmed Ray.

Justin nodded. "Thanks for that, Graeme. I feel better."

"Now if we can get back to the stage in time to perform, it'll be perfect," remarked John.

Ray looked skeptical. 

"I'm afraid we may have to cut a good deal of it, but it will be quite fantastic if we get some time at all."

"Well, then," sighed Justin. "Back to the setlist now that the tension has been reduced."

With great dread, the four pondered over the lists, striking off and numbering the order of songs they would cut. It seemed they had worked so hard to choose the best of their songs beforehand, already having made painful decisions to not include some. Cutting the ones they'd painstakingly decided on was agonizing.

"Justin," said John, his voice practically a whimper. Of the songs cut, he'd lost the majority. "We can't cut Ride My See-Saw. It's been our finale since we first wrote it."

"We're not _going_ to cut it, John. For pity's sake. We already cut Lovely to See You, and we have to leave some upbeat ones there. But we _can't_ cut Nights in White Satin, and I don't _want_ to cut Tuesday Afternoon."

"We can cut another of mine, I suppose -I still have plenty of flute in Nights and Tuesday," suggested Ray. "Dr. Livingstone, maybe?"

"Aren't we down to an hour long set at this point?" asked Graeme. "How much time do you think we're really going to lose?"

"More than we hope to." Justin shook his head. "It is better to overcompensate than not remove enough and end up scrambling to choose between the set."

Ray tried to pull them back on topic. "So then what is it going to be? We already cut three of Mike's, and I wouldn't dare cut any more of his without asking him."

John looked over the set list again. He appeared stoic on the outside, but on the inside he was crying. 

Ray couldn't help but sympathize with him. He felt crushed too.

"Maybe if we ask Mike, we could remove Out and In. If not, Dr. Livingstone, or I could cut House of Four Doors entirely instead of doing it shortened," suggested John.

"You don't need to cut any more of your own, mate. It's not fair," Graeme started.

"It's already shortened, so it wouldn't make much difference, I suppose," John murmured, crestfallen.

Just then, the door swung open.

Their manager.

"Boys, your keyboardist is a genius. A _machine_ , I tell you. Putting an entire mellotron back together in just over an hour! He's got it together. You all are going on now, and the audience has stayed. They are waiting and excited to see you, so come along!"

Graeme grinned. "He's got her back in order again!"

"How much time do we get?" asked Justin urgently.

"We can give you just a little over an hour," said the manager. "If you go a little over, that's okay, but not too far."

John looked at the setlist urgently, estimating the time.

"Oh, thank goodness," he sighed. "We don't have to cut anymore."

Justin finally smiled naturally, the tension relieved. "If we finish a little before, we can add a few back in the order we decided on too."

"Alright, mates, let's go already!" Ray urged.

They began to file out onstage.

Graeme slapped Mike heartily on the shoulder before taking his kit.

"Thanks, mate. We knew you could get it together."

Mike looked up to Graeme with an exhausted grin.

"You all do know I could hear most of what you were saying back there, do you?"

Graeme looked alarmed.

Mike screwed up his eyes and chuckled.

"Mate, don't worry about it. Though I question your thought process on what you think of me, I do have to say it was quite funny and gave me a much needed laugh whilst dealing with my 'drunken mistress'!"

Graeme shook his head, grinning as he gave a sigh of relief and climbed back onto his drum stool. Leave it to Mike to nearly give him a heart attack.

But then, Mike pushed down on the mellotron's keys, and the light, vibrating strings resonated as the curtain rose, revealing a full audience before them that resonated with applause.

"We made it," Ray whispered to Justin. " _Now_ we're ready."


End file.
